Ungentlemanly Behavior
by VictorianChik
Summary: When Holmes shows Mary uncivilized and rude behavior, Watson steps in to put his best friend in proper order. Post-movie. Warnings: caning and very Victorian writing.


AN: I read the Sherlock Holmes novels as a preteen and while I would love, love, _love_ to write some kind of fanfic about Hound of the Baskervilles, I am writing a one-shot that would take place after the movie. I feel so nostalgic about these characters, and I love that they are being revamped in all their Victorian glam and grittiness. This story also gave me a chance to use the high-prose of narration that the 1800's loved. A world of manners and etiquette and long flowery sentences just delight me, and of course this is written in Watson's voice as were most of the novels and short stories.

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I had expected better behavior from Holmes. The man is a raving lunatic between cases, but usually at the end of one, he's tolerable for a week at least, still basking in the glory of his own skills. After such an elaborate conspiracy (Lord Blackwood's plans had been no mere missing necklace or blackmail scandal), I expected a full fortnight with lots of self-praise and moment-by-moment review of his part in the case.

I had planned to stay at 221 Bakers Street for a bit longer. Mary and I were not yet married, and I would not have her virtue called into question by insisting we live together just yet. Most of my belongings were gone, but I had enough personal items to stay comfortably for a week. I thought we might have an enjoyable time of it; Mary had given her notice for the family where she served as governess, and I selfishly enjoyed having her company for days on end rather than scarce hours that she could steal away from the children. We used to meet at night, once the children were in bed for the evening, but I could not keep her out past ten without fearing disapproval from her employers.

A governess leads a precarious life, caught between family and servants, allowed to sit at the table with the family, but hidden in the nursery with the children for the most part. Mary is still young, but most governesses past the age of twenty-six resign themselves to the fact that they will never marry. They serve their sentences caring for someone's children, knowing they must keep themselves in constant order because there will come a time when the children grow up and no longer need a governess at which time the governesses must request a recommendation in order to find another family to serve.

I loved Mary, she loved me, we were delightfully happy together, but Holmes has never been too satisfied with watching other people be completely happy. In fact, he goes out of his way to demonstrate just how miserable other people's happiness can make him.

After all we had endured in the last few days, I expected him to finally accept Mary and see her for the sweet, kind, wonderful person she was, a woman worthy of respect and admiration. But Holmes never behaves the way one wishes him to behave; he takes perverse pleasure in acting the very opposite of whatever is expected of him.

We were having tea together, not two days after Blackwood's death, and Holmes began to make little side comments about my Mary. Small things, barely noticeable, discussing a shopkeeper's life he noted that female shopkeepers barely scrape together a living, "a handful of shillings more than a governess, which tells you just how valuable the English consider shop-women."

In mid-sip, Mary lifted her blue eyes above the rim of her teacup to stare at me. I frowned, but allowed the comment to slide. I would protect my darling's honor with my life, but if she wanted to spend any time with Holmes, she would have to adjust to his callous remarks.

However, he refused later to go out to dinner with us, claiming we should save every farthing we had because, "a retired doctor and unemployed governess must scrimp and save or starve in less than two months."

"Retired military doctor," I told him firmly. "I still see patients and draw a retirement from the army."

"So rude of you to talk about money in front of her," Holmes gestured with his bow at Mary before picking up his violin to pluck at it. "A gentleman never discusses money before a true gentlewoman. Which reveals your real feelings, I deduce."

Mary gave me a quick look, obviously uneasy, and I resisted the urge to snatch up the violin and break it over his head. The man is an absolute ass, sometimes.

Holmes began playing as if we were not there, and rather than making a remark as to his lacking musical talent, I offered Mary my arm and we left.

I was in a temper as we got into the cab, and as the driver started the horse, Mary took my hand.

"You mustn't let him get to you. I don't. It's just his way. If you would take him aside in private and explain how you feel, I'm sure he would stop."

"You assume him to be of much better character than he is," I replied. "After all we have endured together, I expected him to welcome you without reservation, and instead I find him childish and irritable."

"Very childish," Mary nodded. "Pity he's not one – I could handle him much better if he were a boy of six."

"What should you do with a naughty boy of six?" I asked, amused at her pursed lips and disapproving expression. "I can't imagine you ever having trouble with the children."

"All children misbehave at time, much like adults. I've had children sassy me before, talk rudely, refuse to mind, refuse to settle down and go to sleep. I had one boy so unruly, I grabbed him by the ear, bent him over my knee, and spanked him a good six times for his naughtiness. The other children looked on, wide-eyed, but the child started crying that I was so stern with him. I meant to scold him further, but he was crying before the end, and I picked him up to hold tight for a bit. The poor thing clung to me, sobbing until I felt perfectly horrid for punishing him."

I chuckled. "I'm sure the child suffered no lasting harm."

"He fell asleep on my lap and I put him down to bed for the night. When I told the other children to get ready for bed, they skipped to it on the double. It really is a shame Mr. Holmes does not have a governess."

I laughed. "He does call our landlady Nanny from time to time, though I doubt a real nanny would be that tolerant of his moods."

She reached down to put her hand in mine, and we rode in gentle silence, glad to be together at the end of the day.

I hoped our absence might change Holmes' disposition for the better, but when I returned later that night, I found him moody and short tempered.

"Nothing more to do," he looked out the window. "Nothing more, except wish to chase dear Adler half way across the world."

He seized his violin and played a desolate tone, so high and screeching I gritted my teeth together. It reminded one of fingernails down a blackboard, and I was tempted to engage my friend in a solid round of boxing. He would never hurt me, I felt certain, but I relished acting upon the excuse to smash his face with my fist. Incorrigible!

Around one, I retired for the night, but he stayed awake, plucking that damnable violin and making it scream long into the wee hours of the morning.

I considered taking the cane to him right then and there.

I had one I kept in special reserve for times when he got truly out of hand. Thus far, I had caned him only twice – both times when he had indulged in cocaine and nearly lost his mind. The first time he had wanted to experience its effects, so he took a small bit, and I had given him half a dozen with the junior cane, the sort of implement we had both encountered in our school days when we boarded.

The second time, he had been depressed and irritable, and he took enough of the drug that he lost his mind. He raged around our quarters to the point that the neighbors threatened to call for the constable. I sent word to Lestrade, and when our amicable Scotland Yard inspector arrived, he said we must calm Holmes or else he would have to be sent to the asylum.

I had been scared half to death then; I knew exactly what an asylum would do to my sensitive, brilliant friend. He would die there, probably by his own hand, or he would join the ranks of the insane with their blank looks that tore me apart every time I had to visit on request of a patient's family member.

Lestrade and I had put Holmes to bed and insisted he stay there. In the two days following, I had watched the drug wear off as Holmes raved and gibbered like a madman, hallucinating and claiming voice were talking to him. I put him on a strict diet of bread, gruel, and tea for the following week, his body tortured by the effects of the poisonous drug. It required a full fortnight for him to heal completely, and when he had, I insisted on a full dozen from the cane, the best I had delivered since my days as a prefect.

Afterwards, the mood of our quarters had been decidedly more cheerful as I said anymore gloominess and drug-indulgence would be met with further stripes. I had put the cane in a closet we rarely use and insisted that it stay there as a warning to all who lived at 221 Bakers Street that any further dabbling in drugs would be met with swift punishment.

Since that time, the cane had disappeared once, and Holmes protested that he knew of its whereabouts. I had replied that it must be replaced before morning, or I would be forced to go out and purchase another, but this replacement cane would be thicker, more of a walking cane than a junior cane. Holmes had replied that he found my manners atrocious and my intentions criminal and that he should feel well within his compulsions as a gentleman to report me to Scotland Yard. I did not quarrel with him; I left for the day, but that evening I found the cane back in its proper corner of the closet and Holmes playing the violin with a violent fervor, looking as if he wished all mettlesome doctors at the bottom of the Thames.

As far as I knew, he had not taken cocaine again. He occasionally mixed opium into his tobacco, but as long as he didn't overindulge himself, I left that bad habit slip by without any sort of comment. I am his friend, not his nanny, governess, tutor, schoolmaster, father, mother, brother, or uncle. Well, to be perfectly honest, I supposed I am part of all those different roles, but first and foremost, I am his friend. Then his companion in detective work, then his doctor, and then perhaps the rest of those caretaking roles which force me to look after a grown man who should be more than capable of looking after himself.

I felt utterly exhausted, and I wondered if I could keep myself in bed tomorrow under the pretense of warding off illness, and leave Holmes to his own nefarious devices for the day. Surely London could endure Holmes on his own without me to monitor his behavior, at least for one day.

I fell asleep sometime around three, and that infernal violin music followed me into my dreams, in and out of consciousness, fading reality into blackness and muddling my senses.

I awoke around ten at the consent banging upon my closed (and locked) bedroom door. Pulling on a dressing gown over my pajamas, I jerked the door open.

"Yes?" I barked out.

Holmes looked hurt. "You missed breakfast," he accused. "Mrs. Hudson was worried, and I waited and waited, but you didn't come at all. I was very nearly ready to fetch a doctor, but you're our doctor, so that put in me a difficult position."

I glared at him. "I am spending the day in my room. Please keep the noise down."

"In your room? Why? What, pray tell, is of interest in there?" Holmes craned to see over my shoulder. "Have you dear Mary in there, you wicked cad?"

I held a finger in his face. "Another word against my beloved, and I will be forced to take drastic action."

"You'll duel me?" Holmes prodded further, unwilling to stop his annoying questions.

"No, I will leave these premises forever, and you will never see either of us again."

"I shall indeed. I could find you anywhere. There is no dark corner of the globe that you could hide should I feel compelled to find you."

"Good day, Holmes," I tried to shut the door.

He blocked it, asking, "But why are you staying in? Who shall I talk to? No one stays in their bedroom, unless they are ill. Are you ill?"

"Yes," I tried to shut the door again.

He still blocked it. "You don't look it."

"It is a headache."

"I will ring you some tea."

"No, it's a headache that tea cannot fix."

He looked outraged. "That is a slur against Mother Britain and all her loyal subjects. Tea sooths any grievance of the body, and I will not be party to such depravities as you have suggested. You shall have a cup at once."

"I don't want tea now," I said, though the thought of a strong cup with some well-buttered toast was appealing. But if Holmes brought me food, he would see that as a reason to imposition himself on me all day long, and I could not endure his company for the entire day. "I want quiet and rest. I was up to all hours of the nights listening to your damned playing."

Holmes recoiled as if I had slapped him. "My dear Watson, my playing was to ease you into sleep. I have never picked up my instrument without the intention of calming you and relaxing your nerves."

"That's a lie, and you know it. I hate that thing and wish to use it for firewood," I retorted.

He looked further scandalized. "You are clearly out of temper and out of sorts to make such an unpleasant statement. I shall put you to bed directly and find something to tempt your appetite. Doctors always work themselves into a state over others' complaints, and no one considers that physicians need care as well as any man."

"I'm not ill. I have a headache and you are making it worse!" I nearly shouted. I managed to close the door and locked it before he could intervene. I returned to lie on my bed while he pawed at the door and begged me to let him in.

"You're ill, and I can't bear to see you do yourself harm," he implored through the doorway.

"Go away," I told him.

He stayed for a few more minutes, grousing and fussing, but eventually he went away. I expected him to start making noise to show how put out he felt by my withdrawal, but he kept himself quiet for a good hour.

Around noon, I got out of bed went to the bathing room we shared. I quickly locked the door before he could come in through his side, and I drew a hot bath and settled in for a long soak. My burn scars were healing nicely, mainly because I kept changing the bandages and dressing the wounds. I felt thankful that our landlady had been modern enough to install running water, both cold and hot. I'm sure she thought that the conveniences would encourage her tenants to keep themselves tidy, but Holmes, for all his brilliancy, did not see the connection between modern comforts and cleanliness.

After the refreshing bath, I dressed, but set aside my jacket to pick up my bedroom in just my waistcoat and rolled-up shirt sleeves. During cases, my own property tends to be strewn about haphazardly, and I spent a good hour changing the bed clothes, hanging up my own clothes, and putting shirt cuffs, ink pens, and spare coins in their proper places. I opened up my windows to air the room out and went about sorting papers.

Originally, upon our entering these rooms, our landlady had planned to hire a maid to tidy and clean, under the strict understanding that we would be perfect gentlemen to the maid. I had planned to respect the maid entirely, but Holmes' slovenly behavior had caused Mrs. Hudson to rethink a maid altogether. She most notably objected to his experiments with his gun.

I meant to spend the afternoon with some pleasant reading, but then I heard raised voices.

"He doesn't want to be disturbed!" Holmes protested.

"Mr. Holmes," my Mary's clear voice replied, "I do not wish to disturb my fiancé, but I do wish to pass a note under his door so that he knows I am here. If he does not wish to see me, he can return the note with a time that will be more convenient to meet. So kindly step aside, sir, and let me slip the note under his door."

"Indeed, I will not," Holmes told her. "He is ill, and if he refuses my humble offer of help, then he surely does not want a mettlesome, hysterical female shattering his peace with her loud, obtrusive voice."

"My voice, sir, is neither loud nor obtrusive. I merely wish to deliver a note to my fiancé, a wish well within my rights, and you are not a gentleman if you refuse me so meek a request."

I was already going towards the door to tell Holmes to jump out the window and leave my love alone. I opened the door just in time to hear him retort,

"I most certainly am a gentleman, but perhaps your low breeding and obvious lack of gentility do not recognize a gentleman when you see one, governess. You have wormed your way into the arms of a respectable doctor and you will do all in your power to ensnare him with your whorish wiles."

"Sherlock Holmes!" I barked out.

Holmes turned and instantly looked guilty and repentant. He mustered back his courage to protest, "Well, she started it."

I had a desperate urge to find that infernal pistol and shoot the man. Instead, I put my arm out to Mary and she cautiously entered my embrace, actually breaking most social conventions by wrapping her arms around my waist and leaning her head against my shoulder. Such liberties outside of marriage and before another bachelor would normally been considered scandalous behavior, but I thought of nothing but trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice. "I shouldn't have come, but I wanted to see you and when he dismissed me –"

"Oh, fine," Holmes stomped around like a four-year-old about to throw a tantrum. "Take her side. From now on, you will always take her side. I've taken painstaking care of you, but that hardly matters now that this snippety miss has overstepped her place to supplant me!"

I look Holmes straight in the eye. "You, sir, have stepped far past any hope for apology. We will take our leave now forever."

I moved to guide Mary to the door, but Holmes shot back,

"Oh, yes, leave forever. Take that harlot to your new home and have your way with her. I'm sure you're not the first."

I felt Mary stiffen against me, but rather than stride out, I stepped away from her. I looked silently at Holmes and then I strode towards the back closet.

Holmes suddenly hovered at my side. "Watson, where are you going? What could you possibly need back there? Watson?"

I opened the closet door and reached far back into it to remove the junior cane. As I turned towards Holmes slowly, he leaped back, concerned.

"Now, now, Watson, I don't know how you plan to employ that, but I assure you that I shall get out of your sight immediately and leave you with your blushing fiancé."

The cane in both of my hands, I stepped towards Holmes, stern and determined.

"Watson, Watson," his voice was half an octave higher, almost the high protest of a boy, "dear Watson, I admit I may have been a bit rash, but my nerves, my nerves!"

"There's nothing wrong with your nerves," I told him, still advancing.

He continued to back away from me. "You have no idea of the strain my nerves have suffered, pure torture until I get no rest and lie awake all night, tormented."

"This from the man who enjoys boxing as a pastime," I snorted. "And I was the one lying awake all night. You have gone on quite enough."

On the other side of the room, Mary watched with wide-eyed fascination. She had not moved which I attributed to her courage; another woman might have fled in terror.

"Watson, please," Holmes began, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

"No, no, quite enough. You bend over a chair and prepare yourself for a good, solid two dozen."

"Two dozen?" he paled. "That is preposterous, sir, utterly barbaric and sadistic, the low mark of a coward."

"Indeed," I refused to be distracted into a fight. "This coward plans to give you a good caning for your ungentlemanly conduct to his lady. We both know that you've been asking for this – your childish behavior has escaped no one's notice, and I will put an end to this nonsense once and for all. Another man I would have challenged to a duel, but your mind is far too valuable to risk ending your life so a caning is in order."

Holmes looked around wildly for an escape.

"Sherlock," my voice was deep, "running will prove a very poor choice as I know where you live and you must return to this residency at some point. And should you run, I shall take Mary from here directly, and you will never be welcomed in our presence again. Over you go."

Holmes flushed at my stern tone. "You're – you're not my schoolmaster," he stammered.

"No, but had I any lasting sense, I would have hired one to look after you and given myself peace of mind and body. Though with your petulance, a strict nanny might be a better choice, especially with your precarious nerves."

Holmes stiffened. "That is adding insult to injury."

"Insult, yes, but the injury will follow shortly. Prepare yourself."

He took half a step towards the chair, then hesitated. "Mary should leave."

"Indeed, she shan't," I replied. "Mary shall stay where she is and witness your disgrace as retribution for your insults."

"Watson," Homes lowered his voice, "a gentleman does not subject a lady to such depravities."

"Now she's a lady? A moment ago, she was a low-bred governess and a harlot. You seem to change your mind about people fairly often. Regardless of your opinion, she shall stay here and should you feel tempted in the future to belittle her, you will remember that she stood here and watched you get soundly thrashed."

I felt immensely pleasure at Holmes' erratic behavior as he glared at me and then gave her a beseeching look to implore her sympathy. Before he could work his wiles on my gentle-hearted love, I had him by the collar and marched him towards the chair in much the same way as schoolmasters had dealt with me in my boyhood. I expected a fight from him, but he actually leaned over the back of the chair and put his hands on the arms.

"I won't forget this inhuman treatment," he threatened.

"Oh, shall it make you less agreeable than usual?" I asked snidely. "Shall you brood more, continue your infernal experiments with guns and narcotics, or irritate Mrs. Hudson more?"

"Yes," he cried out peevishly.

"We shall see." I set the cane on the table beside the chair, and he flinched away from it. I took my time unbuttoning my cuffs and rolling up my sleeves. Mary edged close to us, wondering where she stood stand.

"Here, my love," I motioned for her to approach. "Stand to the side, towards the front. Should he start swearing, you have permission to box his ears."

Mary went to where I pointed, her hands folded together ladylike, but her lips kept twitching as if she found the whole ordeal amusing and embarrassing at the same time.

"Shall I require you to keep count?" I asked Holmes as I picked up the cane.

"I shall strangle you in your sleep," he growled.

"I take that as a request for me to keep count," I said amiably. "Ready?"

Without waiting for an answer, I snapped the cane down on his hind quarters. It made a sharp noise, and he groaned between clenched teeth. Satisfied, I brought it down again, aiming half an inch below my previous strike. He made a haggard sound deep in his throat, and I saw his knuckles tighten over the arms of the chair.

I struck again, but this time I saw Mary wince. Her eyes were on Holmes, but she tensed as I raised the cane and flinched when I struck it soundly against Holmes' buttocks. Holmes, for his part, could endure a boxing round with little complaint, but a caning always proved his undoing. He had trouble holding himself still, and as the number of strokes grew to the teens, he had trouble keeping words from escaping his clenched teeth.

Stroke thirteen – "No, Watson!"

Stroke fourteen – "Watson, please!"

Stroke fifteen – "I can't – it's too much."

Stroke sixteen – "I beg you – no more."

Stroke seventeen – "Aagghh! Oh, for the love of all that's holy!"

Stroke eighteen –

"John," Mary stepped closer, "John must you?"

I looked at her beautiful face, her bottom lips caught between her teeth and her blue eyes shining with tears. "He must be dealt with severely," I told her. "If we allow this kind of behavior, we will never hear the end of his degrading remarks and caustic comments. We end this behavior now, or our married life with be plagued with this man's insensitivity towards you which I will not allow."

Mary looked torn between my logic and Holmes' display of suffering. "I suppose," she sighed, "but do have a bit of mercy. You can be horribly strict sometimes."

I blinked, trying to remember a time I had ever been strict to her. She gave me a smile that was far too familiar and coy for an unmarried woman to give her fiancé, and I felt my body cry out in want for her. Our wedding night could not come soon enough.

With great control, I turned my attention back to Holmes who was moaning in pain and swaying his body back and forth in attempt to alleviate the sting. I reached out with a hand to swat his bottom.

"Aahhh!" he protested.

"Pull yourself together," I ordered. "Have you anything to say to Mary before I deliver the last eight?"

"Eight? Oh, Watson, take pity on a poor suffering creature who begs for mercy."

"Holmes."

"I apologize, Mary," he lifted his head enough to reach her gaze. "From the bottom of my heart, my sincerest apologizes for my dastardly conduct. I will never ever speak a word against you, I swear, and my new aspirations will be to serve you as loyal servant and dear friend."

Mary smiled at him. "I forgive you, Sherlock."

"And if you have any spark of kindness in you," Holmes lowered his voice a notch, "you will call this brute of a lover off me."

I snapped the cane against him once more.

"Lover as in fiancé," Holmes amended hastily. "As in the man that loves her and she loves. So much love, dear sweet love, but none of it directed towards me!"

I swung against, and then Mary instructed, "Finish quickly, John."

I laid four down in rapid succession, and Holmes let out a bellow like he had been scalded. He wailed for five seconds straight, and I shook my head at his theatrics.

"Stand up and take yourself to a chair to calm down."

He straightened and limped to the sofa, a liberal exaggeration of his injury as if he had been beaten for a day rather than the last ten minutes. He lay down on the sofa, stretching out on his side and continuing to make suffering chokes and sniffles.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I took the cane back to the closet and put it away. I rolled my sleeves down and fastened my cufflinks back into place. I fixed my collar and tie, thinking that caning my best friend took a good part of my energy. I felt overwhelmingly hungry, and I relished taking Mary out to lunch and perhaps Holmes as well if he could control himself long enough to go out in public.

I came back in the main room to a rather endearing sight. Mary had seated herself at one end of the sofa, and she had a flat pillow in her lap. Holmes had his head on the pillow, still on his side, and his fingers played absentmindedly with a fold of her skirt while she petted his hair. Had I found another man in such proximity with my love, I would have been furiously jealous, but with Holmes, I felt that I was watching a boy get comforted by his sister.

"There, there," Mary soothed in her best governess voice, "you'll feel better soon."

"He's abominable with me," Holmes sniffed, nuzzling his cheek deeper into the pillow. "You see what I suffer?"

"He is very stern," Mary brushed down his wild hair and rubbed the back of his neck. "But now you'll know how to conduct yourself in the future. There are some things John will not tolerate. Hush now and rest and you'll fell better soon."

"No, I shan't," Holmes tightened his hold on her shirt, drawing his knees up a little. "I hurt, and my head hurts, and my shoulders hurt."

"Poor man," Mary kept up her gentle administrations while I stood to side, amused. "Just rest. Close your eyes for a bit, and you'll feel better."

He did, but insisted, "Sing to me."

"What do you want me to sing?" Mary couldn't help smiling at such a request.

"Something soft and sweet."

Mary started crooning a soft lullaby, and Holmes sighed in contentment.

I dropped into a nearby chair to listen. Mary had a pretty voice, not one loud or powerful enough for the stage, but precious and calming. As she sat singing to a man on her lap, I couldn't help but imagine her in a nursery someday, singing a cranky toddler to sleep at the end of a long day. She smiled at me as she sang, and I returned her smile.

Half an hour later, Holmes said he felt recovered enough to go get a bit of lunch, and Mary fussed over his appearance as we got ready.

"Your hair is really frightful," she tried to comb ack the mess. "And you really must have a new tie. John, be a dear and fetch him a new one. And a fresh coat. This one smells of gunpowder. Sit still, Sherlock, while I wash your face."

"You have no idea of the agony I am in," he said as he tried to sit still in the hard chair.

"Shh, shh," she dipped a clean handkerchief in a cup of cool water and bathed his face gently. He closed his eyes, and when she was finished, he lifted up his collar for her to arrange his tie properly. By the time I brought his coat, Holmes looked like a new man, proper and refreshed to face the world with renewed vigor.

"Shall we?" I offered Mary my left arm.

However, Holmes was at her other side, offering his right arm. Mary obligingly took both of our arms.

"Gentlemen," she nodded to us politely.

"My lady," Holmes put his hat on with a grand sweep. I noticed as we went that his limp had completely disappeared.

As we left our quarters, I wondered exactly how our children would view Holmes. One thing was certain – they could not be more trouble than he was. I hope by the time Mary and I started a family that Holmes would outgrow some of his more irritating habits. Or we would be forced to raise another child.


End file.
